


Frozen Roses

by noneedforacrown



Category: Anne - Fandom, Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV), L.M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables (2016)
Genre: #BarelyAnyAngstButSomeAngstForTheDrama, #CafeInRainyLondon, #CoffeeShopAU, #fluff, #modernAU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:55:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25733914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noneedforacrown/pseuds/noneedforacrown
Summary: Anne and Gilbert are two young adults, who are about to move in at the end of the month so they decide to set a coffee date to hash out the last, but the most important details.Note:1. This is a fluff piece. When the other AUs hurt you, you can come here. Rest up. Make yourself a cup of tea, I'll wait.2. It is a modern coffee shop AU, set in rainy London. Which soon becomes a Christmas AU, two chapters in. It makes sense trust me.3. Any and all angst exists to aid the fluff be more fluffy, and because I keep accidentally writing it.4. This is purely an indulgence. I AM ONLY TRYING TO MAKE *MYSELF* HAPPY.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 9
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

Grey rain tinkers with the cobbled streets of London as they quietly fall. Coffee shop window panes haze as the gentle November rainfall leaves them awash, glinting like specs of stars across the glass. Only the easy glow of halogen street lamps flood the evening. Inside the rosewood cafe, slow jazz flirts with the wisps rising from ceramic cappuccino mugs. Mason jars filled with golden fairy lights hang above the cream and sugar station. Their gleaming light casting romance on every surface it touches.

Anne feels the cold in the air bite down on her lips, it makes her swirl the warm milk into her coffee and press her cup against her mouth. Paint on neighbouring buildings bleed like watercolours as she watches on, waiting for a sign of him. He’s not here yet. She checks her phone for messages. 

**_Gil <3 _ **  
_Anatomy’s running late. Will be there soon x_

Her fingers trace his text as her heartbeat quickens. She types. 

_Don’t make me miss you._

And she puts her phone away, flushed. 

Her phone pings. Roses bloom hot below her cheeks.

 ** _Gil <3_**  
_Wouldn’t dream of it_

Her phone pings again.

 ** _Gil <3_**  
_Be there in a few. Oh and get my regular?_

Latte, with too much cream and two sugars. On a bad day, some caramel drizzle. She knew his order like the back of her hand. God. When did this happen? She shoots back another text, hastily:

_Alright, but you owe me._

Gilbert blushes as his eyes read over her message, and breathes a lungful before responding: 

_Gladly._

Oh, dear, was he late. Twenty minutes. Well, not too late, but late by his standards. He rushes in, pushing the door onto its bells, letting the cold gusty wind into the warm cafe, drawing all attention onto him momentarily. Suddenly all too aware of people’s eyes on him, he checks his oversized lilac sweater for rainwater patches. Luckily, there was none. He notices that Anne was sitting at their table. The one they always sat on, regardless of the occasion, or the season. He quickly folds his umbrella into the stand, before moving toward her. She was wearing a flowy summer dress, on this very rainy evening. A crown braid and gold paper jewellery. It was all very Anne. How could someone look so effortlessly ethereal? Her attention was trained onto her laptop screen, and she was busy typing away. The frappuccino glass had left a stain on the wooden surface. God, he was late. He had to make it up to her.

Suddenly aware of a silhouette moving her way, Anne looks up. Pleased to find a very late Gilbert, she cocks a smile and remarks. “Finally, you have decided to grace me with your presence.”

A simple taunt from her and he was instantly rendered useless. He flashes her the silliest smile and says, “Please,” and murmurs as he reaches down to kiss her, “the pleasure’s mine.”

Dissatisfied by the rather chaste kiss she teases, “Remember how you owe me?” Her hands still wrapped around the nape of his neck.

“Yes?” he smiles gleefully and allows her to pull him in. Her fingers run along his supple skin and muss up his hair that was still a bit damp from walking under pouring skies. She was glad to have him so close, after so long. He was here and he smelt of lavender and formaldehyde...practicals and perfume? She wonders. Her heart swells from the realisation that...well, he was kissing her back like he had missed her too. Like he was sorry he had kept her waiting. Like he was frustrated he didn’t have twenty more minutes to do this. 

She breaks them apart, eyes glistening and lips still buzzing from the way his tongue grazed over them, “That’s... that’s better.” 

He beams down at her, his fingers still entangled in her hair and takes a second to recover. “I am going to go and sit over there” he points to the chair opposite her, “because frankly, we’re in a cafe.” and laughs, “I need to remember that.” 

After they’ve both taken their seats, and spent a good minute just getting comfortable with the idea that they were finally sitting down to do this, he flashes her the biggest grin before announcing, “So, one month more.”

“Yeah,” she nods, not believing it still, “we’re moving in together in a month.” 

The words linger between them, just like the kiss had. 

It feels uncomfortable asking what ‘home’ even means to her, and how could they try to create one together. For him, it was simple. His home was his family. It was never a place. But now, the meaning was changing. Unease flutters in his chest, glowing bright and dim. He soothes it by stirring cubes of sugar into his milky coffee. 

Anne, on the other hand, looked assured. Like someone who had braved the storm of what ‘home’ meant far too many times to be phased by having to deal with it again. “Gilbert,” she calls.

“Mh?” he looks up, surprised she used his name. 

She breathes in, “We need plants. I will not be living in a lifeless house.” 

He lets out a short laugh, grateful, “Yes, we do.” Softening into his chair he sips his coffee, “Though I thought, we were good in that department. Given your million plant babies and all.”

Her eyes widen, “Cole has hijacked all of them. So, we'll have to take a look around the greenhouse this week”

He smiles, “It’s a date”

The truth was, they had squabbled over the type of wooden floorings, the direction of sunlit windows and room shapes before deciding on an apartment to rent. Then it was shades of wall paint, coffee table art and textures of rugs. They’d hung fairy lights over their library nook. They’d opened a joint bank account. They seemed ready. To him, anyway. Anne insisted that they were not there yet.

“It’s like, frozen roses” she explains, “roses are not supposed to freeze, and when they do you know something bad has happened. It’s like a love that has been imprisoned in ice.”

He looks on, confused yet entranced. What was the point she was trying to make?

She remarks, “It’s love that didn’t have a chance to live. Its bloomed only to die. It’s immortalised but at what cost? Its beauty is haunting because it is not meant to be beautiful, it is meant to keep us away.”

“I...Anne..?”

“Gilbert I,” she breathes out exasperatingly, “I don’t want us to be frozen roses. I don’t want us to bloom just to die. I don’t want us to end, because we fell in love.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not like they hadn’t lived together before. They had. Just, unofficially. As a young medical science student, he spent most hours of most days in lectures and laboratories, and the rest he split between textbooks, coffee and her bed. It was usual for him to crash at hers. It was usual for her to want him to come over, anyway. It had come to the point where any time they weren’t working, they spent it with each other. To the extent that it made sense to make it official after all. 

So now, both of them sat at their table with their feet mingled with the others, holding half-empty coffee cups, attempting to understand what ‘home’ means to them. While it was getting annoying late on a really rainy evening. 

“Alright, let’s start with something we know best,” she proposes, her fingers stitched together on the table, “Pain.” 

He snorts, bringing his cup to his mouth, “Pain.” 

“What’s too painful to take home?” she queries cutting right to the bone. 

His breath hitches, “Uh..” he meanders, the impatient rain gushes the glass walls awash, “I..” 

She smiles, that small caring smile, the one that she saves for moments like these, as her palm reaches out to caress his. She holds him between her fingers, her thumb running along his knuckles in an attempt to soothe. 

He continues, “I.. um.. Home..? Home is...I guess, for me...where pain is unwelcome. It’s where...I win, even when I lose.” He drops his almost empty cup on the table with the sort of carelessness that one had come to not expect from him. The sudden thud punctuates his point. 

“Hmm..” her eyes glisten like the midnight sea. 

“Your turn,” he nudges. Glad to have shared, what had been stuck in the shelves of his rib cage. 

As if she’d not anticipated her turn she breathes in sharply, evading his gaze, “Home is where things are just...right. The air smells the right kind of sweet. The blanket is always the right kind of soft and the bathwater feels the right kind of hot.” her fingers clasp around his, “It’s safe. It’s safe to trust.”

“Hmm..” his eyes soften into dull granite. 

She loses the grip she had around his hand and grabs her frappe, which was now just foam from the top that had made its bed at the bottom. 

Noticing her withdraw he comments amusingly, “Sounds like Goldilock’s dream to me.” 

She chuckles, surprised, “Well, yes. She was right about a lot.”

“Like breaking into an unsuspecting family’s home and then sleeping in a little boy’s bed?” He plays on, cocking an eyebrow.

The fire in her eyes light up and she spits haughtily, “Like a bowl of porridge is pretty neat.” 

“Sure,” he says, as he takes another sip, smiling slyly. Relieved to have distracted her successfully. To keep up that ploy he asks, “I’ll ask the next one. Top three happy memories of home. Go.”

It breaks her into a smile. “Let’s see…” she says as a smile plays on her lips, and she clasps her fingers as she holds them up to hide her grin, “The time Ruby and Cole crashed our date at my place, remember that?”

He mirrors her big toothy grin and excitedly adds, “God, they were so drunk!”

“Well,” she sympathises, “Ruby had recently suffered a heartbreak, so can you blame them?”

“Can I blame them for throwing up on my shiny new rug?” he sarcastically questions, “Let me see…” and searches the room as if the answer was hiding behind the strawberry marmalade jars, “Yes. Yes I can and I do”

“Okay, mister.” she chastises, “It was no longer your rug. You gifted it to me. Remember?” 

“Alright. Okay. Okay,” he surrenders, laughingly “Go on.”

“So the time, they crashed our date, and we ordered pizza because we were all famished and too tired to cook, and we ended up having a dance party on the bare floor.”

He interrupts, “Again, that’s because we had to toss the rug away.”

“Shh..” she admonishes, “I’m living a happy memory.” 

“Do you remember the song that was playing?” he asks, mischief twinkling in his voice. 

“La vie en rose,” she responds, the name at the tip of her tongue. 

“Good.” He says, before slipping out of his chair, “One second, yeah?”

“Where ‘you going?” Anne asks, confused by this sudden development.

“I’ll be a minute,” he smiles. 

He strides up to the girl manning the counter and speaks to her in a hurried hushed tone. She adoringly laughs and nods along to whatever it was that Gilbert seemed to be requesting before disappearing to the back. 

Gilbert walks back to a rather frazzled Anne, who raises an eyebrow upon his arrival, “What do you think you’re doing?” she warns. 

He looks at her lovestruck, despite himself, and stretches out his palm, “Living a happy memory.” 

The first note comes on and the tune starts flooding the small coffee shop. Anne’s cheeks flush red and hot. God. It was La vie en rose. Unmistakable so. The tips of her ears and nose seem to be on fire but they are nothing compared to the burning in the pit of her stomach. Anne lands her smile right into her palm, shaking her head lightly in disbelief. She looks up to find him standing next to her, his hand outstretched, still. She protests silently. They were in a very public place. 

He stands unabashed, unconcerned, unfalteringly right in front of her, his hand waiting for hers. 

If only she wasn’t hopelessly smitten, she could save herself the embarrassment. 

The trumpet solo plays on as the rainwater gushes over the memory of the first time that they had...

She takes his hand, and he pulls her to him. No one pays them any mind. She laughs, that feather-light laugh she reserves for only him. The one she reveals when he kisses her in the shower, or when he tackles her to their bed. The one she keeps for when they’re alone. He’s surprised to have heard it here. So he moves in closer.

_Hold me close and hold me fast  
The magic spell you cast  
This is La vie en rose_

She lays her head on the alcove of his clavicle. They glide slowly, shifting their weight from one foot to another as they sway to the waltzing tunes of Louis Armstrong. Soon enough he finds her gazing at him amorously. The lights hung above floated in her eyes, glinting in the way she held their reflection. A smile tugs on his lips. This is all too similar to the first time they had...

_When you kiss me heaven sighs  
And though I close my eyes  
I see La vie en rose _

So they just undulate with the rising dulcet of the music and the constant London showers. The familiar peace in each other’s keeping overwhelmingly consuming them whole. Her fingers around his were warm and comforting in a way he had come to expect them to be. There was no other place he’d rather be, than here. Right here, with her. 

_When you press me to your heart  
I’m in a world apart  
A world where roses bloom _

She whispers lowly, “Come closer”

How could he resist?

She cups her fingers around the nape of his neck, she finds it to be unusually warm. His arms rest on her lower back pulling her up to him. His attention is caught on the shimmer of her gloss but his heart is too enchanted to truly comprehend how badly he is smitten. So he just focuses on the feel of her under his skin. 

She hovers over his lips. Fluttering the butterflies in both their bellies and whispers “I love you,” and moves her palms to rest on the sides of his face, letting it sink in for him as he looks on bewitched. A heartbeat later she folds her lips onto his. They’re cold and taste of coffee, but he kisses her back as if to say he loved her too. 

_Give your heart and soul to me_  
_And life will always be  
La vie en rose _


	3. Chapter 3

Christmas lights twinkle blithely around the tree standing in the corner. Mauve rugs cosy up the wooden floors as the scent of cinnamon wafting into the hall eases the hurts of the world. Shelves of books and mosaics of paintings hug the walls. Tasteful and rustic, this is a place of wonder and warmth, tucked away like a secret is, on a busy London street. This place that Anne and Gilbert call home.

Anne’s keys jangle outside their door. Gilbert smiles, knowing by the particular clinking of metal that it was her, relieved that she’s finally home. It had been snowing for the last half hour and the traffic outside was starting to get worse. Besides, he wanted to cuddle. 

Despite the ruckus the rusty keys were making, Anne was unable to unlock the door. Impatient, Gilbert shifts his pile of papers, and dislodges himself from the sofa corner, “Hey,” he says warmly, as he opens the door for her. 

“Hi,” she sounds defeated. Her hair frazzled and damp from the falling snow, bag slung over an elbow, and a bunch of keys clutched in one hand, she stood dazed. 

“Are you okay?” he wonders, aloud, concerned. 

She walks straight into his shoulder and buries her head there, as her arms wrap around him in an embrace. It had been an exhaustingly long day, and she’d spent most of it clamouring in a packed mall or scurrying around a parking lot trying to find a spot.

His arms move from the door handle to rest on her back in an effort to soothe, “Want to come in now?” 

She quietly nods, the movement barely perceivable but he picks up on it.

“Alright, give me this” he instructs, pointing at the bulging bag that looks burdensome on her person, and swiftly, in one move, takes it from her. 

“Presents,” she explains, “for Delphine.” mindlessly placing the useless keys in the designated bowl kept by the candle stands. Gilbert pushes the door close after her, banishing the cold outside. She unwraps her scarf and takes off her coat, and hangs them on the rack, and rubs her palms together to warm up.

“Wow, god.” Gilbert exclaims, taking a quick peek, “Wow. You found the model Dellie wanted.” amazed he glances up at a now beaming Anne, and soon after realises, “This took you all day?”

“What can I say? I’m a wonderful aunt,” she remarks, enveloping a cardigan-wearing Gilbert into a snug embrace for she was not warming up as quickly as she would have liked, and because he looked delightfully snugly. From her place on his heart, she notices the heaps of papers with various ultrasonographic sheets lying abandoned on the couch, the one yellow highlighter he uses religiously, and stacks of his embryology coursebooks decorating the living room floor. She nudges her head in the general direction of the mess, “Took you all day?”

He huffs out a half-witted response, “What can I say? I’m a med student.”

It earns him a small chuckle from her, which he accepts contentedly. 

She keeps her ear steady on his heartbeat and murmurs, “You know, what I’d like?” and doesn’t wait for him to take a gander, “I’d like a garden.”

Gilbert caught slightly off guard, is no stranger to Anne’s cottagecore dreams, comfortingly he coos, “Believe me, I know.” 

“Like, I want to use my fingers to pot green offshoots into the earth and watch my pink strawberries grow,” she complains, deeply aware of how that was not possible in concrete London. 

“Maybe one day…” the pad of his thumb rubs circles on her arm. “One day,” he promises, uncertain if that day would come. They were both rooted in the city, and their families, work and, friends were here. It wasn’t sensible to move, especially now that they had signed a new lease. That, however, did not stop him from dreaming. Life was wild and unpredictable. They were whimsical, moon-adoring folks. No matter how strange, he couldn’t rule out the idea that in a whirlwind future, in a different timeline, they must surely have languished away upon a wine-stained moor, with a forest for a backyard. For now, it seemed far from where they stood but impossibly inevitable. As if he’d blink and suddenly find that they were standing between the leaves of Wordsworth’s poems, emerald lakes and sugar maple trees. 

“Hey, you remember...” Anne brightens up, pulling away from him, bringing him back to their magical abode, “remember last Christmas eve?”

“Yes,” he smiles, gazing at the dark pools of her eyes. Oh, would you look at that? He was standing in Wordsworth’s poems after all. He recalls, “We made margaritas and played way too much of Animal Crossing.” 

“In our defence, we were snowed in, and the cabin had an extensive alcohol library.” Anne fondly reminisces the week leading up to new years day, and how they stayed curled under soft duvets and watched their villagers sit by each other on the hill at sundown. 

“You know, we could do that this year too if you’d like,” he suggests feeling disheartened about her strawberry patch fantasies.

“Make god-awful margaritas and, collect fruits and seashells on Animal Crossing?” God, she loved the game. The pastel colours, the welcoming villagers, the calming activities. She was such a fan.

“No, the cabin I mean. We could go up north? I’m sure Aunt Jo won’t mind us sitting the house for her.” Sure, she’d not get to pot lemon seeds, or pluck berries, or smell the hydrangeas, given that everything was probably buried under a blanket of snow, but evergreen trees and a cabin nestled in snowy woods was a pleasant consolation prize. 

“Uh..” she breaks into a smile, as her eyes twinkle, “Yes!” she exclaims, pulling him towards her, “God, that’s a marvellous idea!” 

He nuzzles into her neck, and muses, “We could play New Horizons this time around, I mean, I loved last year. Even if the margaritas were awful.”

Anne places a soft, affirming kiss on his cheek, dangerously close to his earlobe, “I loved it too.” Taking his hands in hers, she laughs “but we should probably not make any more margaritas, like ever, when I say it was disgusting I’m being generous” 

Amused by her strong rejection of his mixology skills he teases, “Oh?” 

She evades his rather sultry tone, and boops him on the nose, “Oh.”

They giggle, and freckles of snow float down. They were happy and warm but most of all, grateful for not needing the excuse of mistletoes anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of an interlude 
> 
> BUT 
> 
> WE ARE HERE FOR THE FLUFF AREN'T WE???


	4. Chapter 4

Imagine this, a soft falling of snow and a warm fire burning deep into a quiet night. Stars in glistening eyes and heart-stopping smiles. The cabin was awash with delightful Christmas glow, woollen sweaters, and apple cider. Some candles flickered on the mantle and some on the centre table. The wreath on the front door welcomed the wind. They had moved into the cabin last minute and slapped together whatever vaguely resembled the Christmas spirit. They’d come up short for the Christmas tree, but they weren’t upset. Christmas would look different this year, and they were okay with that. As long as they had what was truly important for Christmas: each other. 

In the living room, they were sprawled on the floor with cherry lips and glasses of red wine. 

Anne laughed dizzily, “You do! You remember the lyrics to this one. C’mon! Sing with me.” 

“There is no way in hell I’ll give you the satisfaction of being right.” Gilbert chuckled as he dismissed the growing warmth in his chest. 

It was the alcohol.

Probably. 

She downed her last sip and placed the glass on the coffee table on her right. Stood upright, and stretched out her hand “This is not a request.”

He stared at her as one stares at one of Van Gogh’s, “I’ve never been a natural,”

“You don’t have to be good at it,” she relents, a tired smile made its way into her voice, “you just have to try.” 

He shook his head as if it were wet from all the snow and placed his half-full glass next to her empty one. Then, took her hand. Those were the exact words she’d used the first time they’d met. On their repetition, in a relatively softer, more private moment his heartbeat echoed in the dark corners of the locked-up attic and lit up the dormant woods beyond. 

Do you know that moment? That moment when you’re dancing on the disco floor and your eyes meet theirs, and the light refracts and your heart beats with the music, and you are undeniably smitten. The moment from when on, you can no longer undo time. The moment that is your undoing. 

That is how they met. 

A strong pulsing moment. Dark swoopy hair. Brown curious eyes. Beating music, flashing colours, and noisy lovers. He smiled. She smiled back. And the stars aligned. 

Hardly had he suspected that he’d dance with her on the disco floor, or that so long after, in a wooden cabin shrouded in Christmas snow.

His cheeks were flushed. 

It was the alcohol. 

Probably.

The doorbell rang, announcing merry visitors. 

“Who do you think it is?” Gilbert teased, pleased with himself for already having the answer. 

“Well,” Anne smirked, too clever to hide it, “They’re on time, so I’m guessing it’s Mary.”

She slid away from his embrace and reached for the door handle, still cheekily glancing his way. 

“Merry Christmas!” a sweet, angelic voice greeted. A voice that belonged to…

“Mary! Merry Christmas” Anne beamed and quickly shot a smug smile Gilbert’s way who was now standing beside her. “It is so nice to see you! It’s been so long.” She pulled Mary into an all-encompassing hug. 

Mary nestled in the crook of Anne’s neck for a brief moment, and soothingly ran her mitten covered palm over Anne’s hair, “It really has been.” 

Sebastian followed quickly behind, with a bundle of blankets swaddled around a sleeping three-year-old, snoozing on his right shoulder. 

“Bash! Delphine!” Gilbert welcomed, before clearing the doorway so that the family could step out from under the snow clouds and into the safety of their little cottage. 

“Blythe,” Bash was smiling real wide. “You look pink,” he joshed.

“Thanks. It’s Anne.” 

This caught them all by surprise, and they broke into heartwarming laughter. Mary was smiling ear to ear and rested her head on Bash’s free shoulder. 

Anne on the other hand had taken to leaning onto the door frame, half hiding her reddened face. She murmured in Gilbert’s direction, “They’re gonna think we-!”

“Honey,” Mary interrupted grinning, “that’s...your business. It’s not our place.” She exclaimed and glared at Sebastian to do the same.

“Yeah.. yeah. Not our place.” he followed suit, reaffirming his stance. 

Gilbert looked over at Anne’s ghostly face, “But just so we’re on the same page...we didn’t, actually. We were dancing.”

“That explains it.” Mary swiftly ended their awkward misery, charmingly. 

“Anyone hungry?” Gilbert asked as he closed the door behind them. 

“Me,” a mousy voice squeaked as she rolled her head up from her father’s shoulders and rubbed her sleep heavy eyes.

“We have just the thing for you Dellie,” Gilbert beamed. He pulled out a tray of freshly baked mini chocolate pretzels, with a red heart for a nose, “Rudolph-the-Red-Nose-Reindeer Cookies!” 

Mary who was standing behind Sebastian and Dellie crossed her arms and pierced Gilbert with a stern but loving look. Years of experience had led him to interpret that expression with dangerous acuity.

“These are for dessert,” he added hastily as he stored away the Reindeer Cookies before Dellie could reach over the counter and grab some. Mary smiled approvingly, relieved.

“So, cookies…?” Sebastian poked, “Where’s the milk? And my sleigh?” 

Gilbert flashed him a false toothy smile, “They’re waiting for you by your bedside.” 

“You made cookies for dessert,” Sebastian argued, not deeming it necessary to bother with an explanation.

“So?” Gilbert brushed off, busying himself in the kitchen, “Everybody loves cookies!” 

“Firstly,” Sebastian responded, amazed, “Those are not cookies. Those are pretzels”

“Yes but Dellie likes it when I call them cookies!” Gilbert protested. 

“So glad I am not trusting you with her education.” Sebastian jabbed, as he popped one of the Rudolph Cookies in his mouth. “Hm… these are... not too bad. Good job, Blythe” 

“Thank you,” Gilbert bowed his head fancifully, to further dramatise the moment. 

Sebastian’s eyes trailed over the pot on the stove, he used his eyebrows to point at it, “Let me guess, mashed potatoes?” 

“Okay!” Gilbert huffed, “That’s the only thing I can make on a stove and you know that.”

Sebastian laughed, satisfied with himself, “It’s fine, Blythe. We brought pot roast, and lucky for you. It pairs well with mashed potatoes.” 

“Wow,” Gilbert smiled, “You know me so well.” 

Sebastian gleamed, “I do. Okay, I’ll go see where the others are, they’re all late.”

“Bash?” Gilbert chimed right before Sebastian could leave the open kitchen and make his way to the living room, “Was it Mary’s idea?” 

“What was?”

“The pot roast.”

Bash sighed, “Please. I told her you were gonna cook something bland for Christmas, and she said if I was so sure I could make some dinner myself. Think she wanted to teach me that it’s hard to cook a spread, but instead…” he gesticulated at the pot on the stove and shrugged his shoulders. Glee masking any humble lesson Mary had intended to impart. 

“Thank you,” Gilbert concurred, beside his better judgement, “I did need help.” 

Sebastian’s crest fell, he spoke in a lower baritone, “Blythe, why did you think I prepared a roast?" 

He shook his head before continuing, "I have seen you struggle helplessly the night before your vivas, or when you wanted to ask Anne out but were too stubborn to practise with a friend first, or when you were out of baking powder and had to bake Dellie’s cake. I know you, and so I also know you are too proud to ask for help. You should really work on changing that” and a moment later, added to lighten the mood, “You know, given that you need help so often.” 

“Can’t go a second without mocking me, can ya?” Gilbert sneered overtly, but love welled in his chest.

“You make it so easy, it’s hard not to!” and with that Sebastian and his lush black coat disappeared into the magic of the living room. 

Seconds later he peeked back in, “You coming? Or do the potatoes need monitoring?” 

“Coming.” Gilbert replied, turning the stove off, “They’re done.”

Sebastian looked at him as if he was forcefully swallowing his words. 

Gilbert walked up to him, “What? Decided not to ridicule them anymore?” 

Sebastian unhesitatingly spurts, “Just leaving the salt for the potatoes.”

Gilbert struck him with a bemused look, but his lips failed him and curled into a smile. He had missed Bash and his constant teasing.

Sebastian objected immediately, “What? You practically prodded that one out of me!” 

Gilbert sliced, unapologetically, “Haven’t you roasted enough this Christmas?” 

“Alright, I deserved that.” and they laughed, for old times sake, and for joking about Gilbert’s poor culinary skills and an inexhaustible determination to keep cooking, badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah... Did I set the mood for Christmas in the middle of September? 
> 
> Yes. Yes, I did.


End file.
